


All Is Well

by quantumoddity



Series: Widomauk Courtesan AU [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Brothels, Courtesan AU, Family, Found Family, Gen, Memory Loss, Origin Story, Recovery, Sex Work, Trans Mollymauk Tealeaf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21876175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumoddity/pseuds/quantumoddity
Summary: How Mollymauk Tealeaf came to work at the Lavish Chateau
Relationships: Marion Lavorre | Ruby of the Sea & Mollymauk Tealeaf, Mollymauk Tealeaf & Yasha
Series: Widomauk Courtesan AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1153499
Comments: 7
Kudos: 104





	All Is Well

Sometimes Marion would miss it. 

When she sat in her office, which she kept purposely aside from the rest of her brothel, soundproofed and even decorated in a completely clashing scheme from the rest of it all, she would sit alone with books of numbers and order forms and client lists and miss being out there. This had always been what she’d wanted, to own her own house, keep her own place, know that everything was exactly how she wanted it and that everyone who passed through her doors was safe. She had been in enough places that were… otherwise… to have it mean a lot to her. 

But still, she would miss it. Never for long, never enough to regret anything, but enough. 

If she had the time, if there were no jobs immediately demanding her attention, sometimes Marion would indulge the nostalgic longing that lived in the back of her mind. She would leave the accounts and books and go linger in the bar room, in the booth that was kept clear for her. The bartender would never need to be asked, within a minute there would be a flute of her favourite fruit and champagne cocktail by her hand, and the music would shift and swim in accordance with her tastes. 

It was nice to watch it unfold in front of her, the games they all played, subtle, intricate little games barely perceptible to the clients or anyone who didn’t live this life. Knowing when to approach, when to lean just a little further in. When another drink was called for or when to give the server a sign in the hand language unique to the Lavish Chateau workers that the next order needed to be watered down. How to read a client’s wants and wishes, the ones they could barely admit to themselves, in slight shifts of muscle. How to subtly wave over a partner to join the conversation and the eventual revels that would happen upstairs. It was an art in itself, the foreplay and build up, as much as anything that went on in the floors above.

Marion could watch it all and fondly remember when she had been the best at it. 

She chuckled to herself that night, sipping her glass, noting happily that it was peach today.  _ You’re getting old,  _ she admonished herself gently as the bubbles popped on her tongue,  _ sitting here with your glory days… _

She could imagine most people would think it was a terrible thing, a bitter sad irony, to be a courtesan growing old. Marion smirked in their hypothetical faces.

She came back into the room as a different song began, something softer and sweeter than before, mostly piano. And that was when she noticed the marr in her perfect view. The oddity. 

Yasha had spied him too, she noticed, probably before Marion. She was a brand new hire, young and quiet but very good at her job, of course she’d already seen him and was subtly, inconspicuously making her way towards him. Marion held herself stiffer than before, ready to stand and insert herself if trouble was on the cards. Of course she wasn’t as physically intimidating as her new bouncer but she knew how to eject difficult clients. 

But, as Yasha reached the figure hunched over the bar and spoke a few, stern words- the only kind of words Yasha was really capable of speaking- she didn’t move to grab him or ferry him to the door. She only looked back to Marion and it wasn’t annoyance or exasperation in her eyes. 

She looked worried. 

Within a heartbeat Marion was on her feet, heels clicking sharply against the floor as she crossed over. As she grew closer, she noticed several things about the stranger in quick succession, her well honed skills of observation and reading people supplying her quickly and smoothly.

He was filthy. He was young. He was thin. 

And he looked terrified. 

Marion sank into the stool beside him, bringing herself to his level. He was a tiefling like herself, though an unusual deep purple colour she hadn’t come across before. So not from around here. He was dressed in a dark robe, though dark by design or by the soil and dirt that clung to it, she couldn’t immediately tell. And underneath it… well he didn’t appear to be wearing anything apart from some tattoos. Not as unusual in a brothel as it would be in some places but still, odd. 

“Good evening sir,” Marion smiled as if nothing was amiss, “Are you enjoying your time here?”

He didn’t seem to have heard her at first; his pointed ears, bracketed by an impressive set of horns, didn’t even flicker. But then his cracked lips moved slightly and he murmured something softly. 

Marion leaned in, frowning delicately, “M… T? Is that your name?”

“Empty,” Yasha corrected, voice soft so as to use the chatter around them as a cover, “That’s all he said to me too.”

A very bad feeling stirred in Marion’s chest, “Sir? What’s empty?”

The tiefling just gave the barest shake of his head, his curls too matted with dirt and grease to move with the motion. 

“Do you need us to get you some medical attention, sir?” 

Again, nothing, just a slight intake of breath like he was trying to repeat his only word but couldn’t manage. But Marion could make her own assessment. 

“Call for my daughter please, Yasha, if you would be so kind?”

Yasha hesitated, looking between her boss and the young man as if worried to leave them alone. 

“I’m just going to take him up to my rooms and help him get cleaned off. We’ll be fine,” Marion assured her gently. 

That answer didn’t seem to assuage Yasha any but she just nodded, “I won’t be long.”

Moving the young man was easy, there was no resistance at all in his muscles and he just half stumbled in the direction he was pointed. Now they were drawing glances, her workers picking up on the snag in the usually calm and relaxed atmosphere, but Marion gave reassuring smiles all around, answering them in their shared language of hand movements that could be so easily missed by clients.  _ All is well.  _

The young man- the empty young man, as Marion was starting to think of him in her head, as horrible a name as that was- sat on the bed in her private suite, staring into thin air. Like the shadows on the wall were forming an elaborate, absorbing puppet show that only he could see. 

Marion set the shower running for him and tried to gesture him to the en suite, “Shall we get you cleaned up?”

Nothing. No kind of response. 

Sighing softly, Marion went over to him and guided him to his feet. The dirt clinging to him seemed to be mostly soil, there were green flecks to it if you looked closely. It was particularly crusted under his nails, as if he’d been clawing at the stuff like some kind of digging animal. The robe he wore was far too big for him, seen in close proximity, not just because of how thin he was underneath. It looked as though it was more shroud than cloak. 

Marion set her jaw and helped him into the bathroom. He gave absolutely no resistance to her undressing him, like he didn’t feel the fabric against his skin. He was trans, she noted, adding that to her scant information on him. The gently warmed water falling on him drew no reaction either. Though after a moment, when she turned back to him after throwing his robe in the hamper, she could almost see less tension in his muscles, like he’d relaxed ever so slightly in the warmth. 

She heard the door to her apartment open behind her. There was only one person who would ever come into her rooms without knocking.

“Mama?” Jester’s voice called, curious. Clearly Yasha had told her a little about their current mystery.

“One moment,” Marion returned, putting a hand out under the water to gently touch the man on the shoulder, not caring when rivulets of scented soap ran under the billowing sleeve of her dress, “I’ll be back soon, alright? My daughter will check any hurts you have.”

She was expecting nothing, more speaking because it would be rude not to. But he inclined his head ever so slightly, water now streaming through his filthy hair and down his face.

“Empty…” he whispered, so soft that it could just have been part of the water’s gentle voice. He sounded so young, so frightened. 

Marion gave his shoulder a squeeze, feeling a slighter, smaller version of the same love and fear she held inside her for her daughter. He did look so much like her after all, he could hardly have more than a handful of years on her. 

“We will fix this,” she promised, meaning it as much as she could, “And you’re safe here until we do.”

The young man didn’t say his word again and he moved back slightly, as if allowing her to go. Marion went to go but her eyes were suddenly caught on something. They fixed on the young man’s hand, fallen limply by his side. Now it was clean she could see with perfect, horrible clarity just how torn they were, how the skin of his hands was full of ragged splinters, how his knuckles had split, the awful gashes on his fingers. 

And they weren’t the only wounds he had. They were simply the only fresh ones. 

Every inch of his skin was covered with white, slim scars like a falling of snow. Some were nicks, some were long, all of them cleanly done with a sword that must have been as sharp as a razor. 

Marion’s shout for Jester caught in her throat. 

There were always spare rooms available in the Lavish Chateau. Marion didn’t have a high turnover in her staff but new faces were always welcome, provided they fit in. 

Not that their new guest fit in. But he was welcome all the same. 

Marion went to check on him whenever she could spare the time. When she couldn’t, there was always Yasha, who seemed to consider herself in charge of their visitor. It had started as a need to guard him, worrying that whatever violent impulses had earned him so many scars might suddenly reawaken. But now it seemed to be more protective, sitting with him while he slept for when he inevitably woke with nightmares, encouraging him to eat when he was reluctant. 

Of course she was there when Marion pushed back the door after a gentle knock. She sat cross legged on the bed with the tiefling opposite her, mirroring her position. He did that a lot, copying others when he was unsure of what to do. 

“How are we doing today?” Marion smiled fondly, letting the door close. Of course everyone was maddeningly curious about their guest but he needed his privacy. 

“Good,” Yasha gave her a smile, “Watch…”

She faced Molly and clearly, rather formally signed to him in the house’s language.  _ Hello. How are you? _

The tiefling bit his lip and signed back to her, his own movements nervous and unsure but it was unmistakably an answer in the same language.  _ I am fine. All is well. _

Marion smiled delightedly. The difference in the young man was clear, just how much he’d improved from how he’d been a month ago. He moved on his own, his face held expressions. He still couldn’t talk but he asked for things after his own fashion. He seemed to want to be alone most of the time, the noisy brothel seemed to frighten him a little, but his hands were bandaged and his eyes were clear and present. 

And now he could speak to them.

“Yasha, what a wonderful idea,” Marion patted her back fondly, “This is brilliant, it will help him so much.” 

Yasha coloured a little, shocking against her pale skin, “I just thought it would be nice if he could talk to us and if he can’t use his voice… he’s the one that’s picking it up so quickly. He’s learned that in just a few hours.”

He fidgeted a little, looking pleased by the praise. He didn’t always understand what people said to him, like it all came to him through a fog and some things would get lost along the way. But he was good at picking up on tones in people’s voices.

“Well, Mollymauk, well done to you too,” Marion smiles, happy to see him pleased. 

Yasha blinked curiously, “Mollymauk? Is that what we’re calling him?”

Marion gave a delicate shrug, sitting in her reading chair, “Well, I had to call him something until he remembers his name. And people are asking about him.”

“It’s a nice name. What does it mean?”

“Well, it’s a kind of albatross,” Marion said thoughtfully, watching Molly who had retreated inside himself a little, practising the hand motions from before until they were sure and certain, “And that seemed to fit him. He’s clearly from the Coast and he just seems like he’s travelled so far. And he looks so unusual, he deserved an unusual name.”

His ears seemed to pick up at that, glancing over at the two of them and giving a small smile. A smile that looked like it might grow. 

“Mollymauk,” Marion repeated, “Would that be okay with you?” She translated the name and the question into the hand gestures as she spoke. It took a while to spell out, her hands flitting through the shapes with grace and delicacy. 

He tilted his head a little as he processed that, then he looked pleased, answering her with more confidence than before. 

_ Yes. All is well.  _

Marion always wrote her letters to Ophelia Mardun carefully. They were good friends, lovers on a few occasions when she was back in town and the mood had taken them, but she would never be someone Marion wouldn’t watch her words with. 

She was partway through the letter when the knock came at the door. She looked up and spoke a soft welcome, knowing who it would be before he entered. 

A year at the Lavish Chateau had changed Mollymauk more than she’d ever have thought possible. He stood much taller than he had before, he wore his own clothes comfortably- patterned leggings and a billowing shirt under a fitted waistcoat- and his horns held bands and caps of gold. Though he’d never be anything but slender, wiry at best, he was fuller than he ever had been and a smile sat comfortably on his face like it was the norm. There were tattoos on his skin that hadn’t been there a year before and his fingers held no trace of ever having being damaged. 

Though the scars everywhere else remained. Marion didn’t think they’d ever go away. 

“Good afternoon, Molly,” Marion smiled easily, “Tea?”

“Yes, thank you,” he came in and sank into the chair opposite her desk, the one with the plush velvet cushions. Marion never wanted her guests to feel uncomfortable. 

At first Molly’s voice had been wobbly and uncertain, just like his sign language had been the first few times. It had come back in drips a few months after his arrival. He’d remembered words here and there, a lot of it copied from Yasha or Jester or Marion, like a parrot in behaviour as well as his colouring. But once he’d mastered a few small sentences, it came to him quickly, his natural skill for quickly picking things up helping him massively. It was a nice voice in the end, gently accented, quick to laugh and joke. 

Before long, Marion returned with a little clay teapot, just big enough for two, soft whorls of jasmine scented smoke emerging from the spout. She filled both their cups, not wanting it to be over brewed and bitter. She knew Molly didn’t like that, he could be quite particular about his tea.

She’d chosen his first name for him, he’d chosen his second. It seemed to amuse him, given how the first few days he’d been here- days that seemed so long ago now- he couldn’t be persuaded to take any nourishment other than weak tea. He’d also more recently gotten into different methods of fortune telling, tarot cards being his favourite but tea leaves had been his first attempt. 

Marion found that passing strange, someone with no past being determined to peer into the future. She supposed she could understand it. With one being lost to him, maybe he just wanted to reach forward and have some sense of control. She’d never asked. 

He still did love his tea though. 

“What’s on your mind, dear?” she asked softly, watching him blow on his tea to cool it, cupping the little clay mug protectively. 

Molly didn’t look surprised that she already knew he had something to say. He’d gotten used to her rather eerie perceptiveness. 

“I wanted to ask you something…” he sat back, not lifting his eyes from his tea, “Seeing as I’ve officially been here a year and all.” 

Marion nodded, the significance of the day hadn’t been lost on her either. 

Molly seemed to take a breath, like he was steeling himself a little, “I want to work here.”

Marion absorbed that, blinking steadily, “Mollymauk… you know I’m happy to have you here. But there’s still so much you don’t know? Yet you’ve never shown any interest in looking into it…”

“I know,” Molly said hurriedly, red eyes wide and worried, “And it’s not like I haven’t thought about it. But I don’t want to.” 

“You don’t want to? Molly, there could be a life out there waiting for you…”

Molly’s face twisted with unpleasant memories, “A life that ended with me in a grave. Whatever happened back then, I have no idea and I don’t want any idea,” he sighed softly, “All I know for sure is I’m happy right now. I’m happy here. And I want to stay here.”

Marion tilted her head gently, “There’s...there’s other places, Molly, different kinds of work, if you really wanted a fresh start. Some people wouldn’t call what we do here an honourable life or even a good life.”

He didn’t seem surprised by that, the clandestine nature of their home was obvious in a number of subtle ways and inferring from that wouldn’t be difficult, “I don’t understand that. How is it any different from the city market? People need touch and comfort as much as they need anything on those stalls and giving it to them is important. It’s fun here, it’s bright and there’s always laughter and… and it’s safe. I like that. I want to be part of it.” 

Marion reached out and put her hands over Molly’s where he held the cup, “Molly, if this is really what you want then of course you can work for us. You’re already part of our family.”

Mollymauk looked relieved at that, smiling hugely, the lamplight catching on the points of his teeth, “Thank you! Thank you so much, I’ll be as good as I can possibly be, I’ll always show up on time, I’ll do whatever you need…”

She laughed brightly, wondering if she’d ever had anyone be so enthusiastic. A year ago, she never would have let someone in Mollymauk’s condition sign up to be a courtesan. But looking at him now, he was so far from the scared, flinching man who’d stumbled into her Chateau just looking for warmth and light. His thoughts were his own, his words were his own, his decisions were his own. 

Marion smiled warmly and withdrew, giving him her reply in their own hand language, just for old time’s sake. 

_ You are welcome. All is well.  _

If she had the time, Marion liked to come linger in the bar.

It was strange how much had changed in a year and how much hadn’t. The taste of peaches and champagne on her tongue was the same. The sound of laughter and love would always be the same. The pride she felt as she sat back in her booth and let her golden eyes slide across the scene in front of her was the same. 

What was different were the faces, the clients and some of the workers. Yasha was taller where she stood by the door, a greatsword visible over her shoulder that would have been near impossible for her to heft two years ago. Beauregard, a runaway from some high ranking family she wouldn’t reveal but Marion could guess, was laughing with her daughter over at the bar. 

And Mollymauk Tealeaf was in the middle of it, laughing louder than anyone, playfully perched in the lap of a lawmaster, whispering something in his ear while simultaneously signing over to Yasha an unkind but hilarious comment on the scent of his client’s breath. 

Marion rolled her eyes fondly, catching his eye and signing for him to play nice. Molly grinned, completely unabashed, and gave her a wave.

He wasn’t always on time. He wasn’t the most reliable of her workers. But Marion still felt a strong love for him, the same she’d felt when he’d first sat at her bar, the feeling that reminded her so much of her love for her daughter.

That hadn’t changed. And it never would. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider leaving a comment!!


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